


stay lost in this moment forever

by contemplativepancakes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt + kids, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Humor, Injured Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Slice of Life, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, but not life threatening or anything, i am crying that that is an established tag, jaskier never wanted to be a farm husband and is questioning how his life choices brought him here, just enough for jaskier to take care of him and eskel to make fun of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contemplativepancakes/pseuds/contemplativepancakes
Summary: Geralt has never been one for domesticity, but somehow he finds himself living in a cottage with an insufferable bard clinging to him while he attempts to tend a farm and give horseback riding lessons. Geralt’s not sure how it happened, either.in which they head to the coast, and get away for a while
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 45
Kudos: 281





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as per usual, thanks to [xxenjoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxenjoy/pseuds/xxenjoy) for bearing with my massive oversharing when i write and putting up with my smug satisfaction over my placenta joke. (edit bc i have been writing this for too long and forgot: she also dutifully provided three children's names from the games for me to make geralt give horse back riding lessons to. thank you!!) 
> 
> this fic was definitely not written solely so i could write li'l bleater as a mom and geralt having three horses named roach. okay, maybe it was. enjoy!

Geralt’s not quite sure what to do with himself, here. There are no monsters, just a rocky stretch of a beach that’s all theirs. At least, that’s what Jaskier had said, his mouth hot near Geralt’s ear as he took him in hand beneath the stars. Geralt hadn’t had the will to question him. 

He looks at Jaskier, scribbling furiously in his notebook, the quill Geralt gifted him flying across the page. Geralt stretches languidly, but Jaskier doesn’t look up at him. “Jask,” he says, and _no_ , he doesn’t whine. 

Jaskier hums in acknowledgement, and Geralt fights the urge to throw a pillow at him. 

“I’m bored.”

“What happened to the whole no emotions schtick?” Jaskier asks instantly, not turning his attention away from the page. 

This time, Geralt does throw the pillow, and _finally_ , Jaskier looks at him. “Needy this morning, are we?” Jaskier asks, the scent of satisfaction drifting off of him unbearably. 

Geralt grunts in protest. He’d never be anything as undignified as that. 

“Sure,” Jaskier says skeptically. He looks back down at his writing, and Geralt huffs and gets out of bed. 

He takes his time getting dressed, and he definitely does not stretch to reach the top shelf, knowing the way it makes his back muscles ripple. There’s not even a rustle from behind him. 

Geralt gets dressed and wanders out of their little shack. If Geralt was in a more generous mood, he’d call it a cottage, but alas. Geralt tries to walk as quietly across the stones as he can, the habit to be light footed ingrained in him even if there’s nothing that he is trying to hide his presence from. 

Geralt makes his way down the beach, to where the rocks finally give way to grass. He walks a bit farther still, until trees start to sprout on the horizon, and he sees Roach. He walks up to where she’s grazing, in a pasture he fenced off. 

Jaskier had been interested in him that day, at least. “Do you know what a sight you make, all sweaty and good with your hands?” Jaskier had whispered into his ear. 

Geralt hummed. “I think you had better show me.”

And Jaskier did. Repeatedly. 

He’s jerked out of his reverie by Roach nudging him with a snort. Geralt combs his fingers through her mane and leans on the post he had driven into the ground. Jaskier hadn’t been able to hold in his comments on that particular action. 

Geralt huffs. He wishes Jaskier was here, that he wasn’t too busy _composing_ to pay attention to Geralt. He’s distracted by a horse’s scream somewhere to his right. He wrenches back from Roach, who has her ears laid back flat. 

Geralt looks toward the tree line, but nothing seems out of place. It’s not like he can ignore a call for help, though, so he unsheathes his sword and makes his way into the woods just beyond Roach’s pasture. He almost hopes he finds something amiss, just so he can tell Jaskier that keeping his swords on him wasn’t overkill. He’s a _witcher_ , he can’t just walk around unarmed, no matter how many times Jaskier insists they’re on vacation. _Witchers don't just take vacations_ , he's protested, but Jaskier pays him no heed. 

He scans the woods as he walks farther in, but in the end, he almost steps right on it. There’s a horse lying in a copse, panting shallow breaths, his belly slick with blood. 

Geralt’s face pinches, and he crouches down. The horse whinnies in agitation, but he’s not exactly in a position to refuse Geralt’s help. Something’s torn the horse’s stomach open and left it here for dead. Geralt’s stomach turns. He hates seeing needless suffering. He probes the wound with his fingers, biting his lip and trying to decide if the horse has a chance to make it, or if Geralt should put an end to the misery. The horse hasn’t stopped nickering since Geralt got there, so Geralt’s not going to take the choice away from him. Geralt sits down next to him and pets the horse’s snout, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a sugar cube that he keeps for Roach. The horse’s lips close around it, and Geralt convinces himself that the horse is going to be okay. 

Geralt pulls out a flask, just a standard disinfectant, and pours it over the wound. The last thing they need is an infection, and Geralt thanks his paranoia for keeping him prepared. The horse neighs in pain, and Geralt runs two fingers over his soft nose. “It’s okay,” he croons. “You’re doing so good.”

Geralt looks at the wound, thinking. There’s really nothing left but to stitch it up. Stitching wounds is bad enough on humans who understand what’s going on, much less on an animal that doesn’t understand he’s trying to help it. He smooths a hand down the horse’s flank, murmuring nonsense and hoping it’s soothing. 

The horse turns his head to nuzzle Geralt’s hand. 

“Geralt? Geralt!” comes a call from out of Geralt’s view. 

He doesn’t want to startle the horse, but he can hear the worry in Jaskier’s voice, so he replies, “Over here!” trying to be just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. 

He hears Jaskier grumbling, then there’s a crashing through the underbrush. “Seriously, Geralt? What are you—oh. Oh.” 

Geralt looks up at Jaskier, who looks down at all the blood before he looks back at Geralt, his eyes wide. 

“I‘m glad you’re here,” Geralt says, “I could use your help.”

“Oh, joy.”

-

“What’s his name?” Jaskier asks finally, after a week, when it’s starting to look like the gelding is staying. 

“Roach.”

“Geralt, you can’t just name all your horses Roach. That’s ridiculous.”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s worked out so far.”

“Yes, but two at once? They’ll be confused.”

“They’re smart,” is all Geralt says. 

Jaskier throws his hands up and walks away, but Geralt coaxes him back soon afterwards. Jaskier gives him a begrudging kiss and smiles against his lips. 

-

“Geralt,” Jaskier whines, “Pay attention to me.”

Geralt doesn’t glance up from he’s brushing Roach down, with the other Roach nosing against his arm. Roach has been standoffish ever since Geralt introduced her to the second Roach, and he’s starting to think Jaskier might have had a point about the names, but Geralt’s not going to admit that to _him_. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier says again, drawing it out. 

There’s a smile playing at Geralt’s lips, but he finally looks up, Jaskier himself winning out over Geralt’s desire to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

Jaskier is right there beside him, and when Geralt looks at him, he wraps an arm around Geralt’s waist. “Having fun?”

“Never,” Geralt deadpans. 

“Never? Really? Never? Have you forgotten last night already?”

“I think I need a reminder.”

“I can probably arrange that.”

Jaskier mouths at Geralt’s neck, but Geralt pushes him away.

“In front of Roach?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and pulls him back in anyway. Geralt doesn’t offer any more protests. 

-

“Geralt, stay here,” Jaskier says plaintively, tugging on his arm. 

Geralt shrugs away from him, lacing up his pants. Jaskier wraps his hand around Geralt’s wrist from his spot on the bed. Geralt looks down at him and almost gives in, but he needs to check on Roach. His stitches have been healing well, but he has a troublesome habit of trying to chew them out if Geralt doesn’t change his bandages often enough. 

He’s already had to restitch some of them, and Roach made Geralt plenty aware of his dislike of that situation, so Geralt would like to avoid a repeat. 

Jaskier huffs and lets go of his arm. “Fine. I’ll just...wait here, then.”

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. “Insatiable, hmm?”

Jaskier leans back against the pillows and sighs, looking at his lap pitably. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Geralt promises. 

Jaskier throws an arm over his eyes and turns over, making a rather uncalled for dramatic noise, if you ask Geralt. Geralt rolls his eyes fondly, trying not to let them catch on the planes of Jaskier’s back or the way the blanket drapes over him just so… 

Geralt shakes his head and makes his way out the door, blinking his eyes against the cool early morning air. He walks along the rocky beach until the paddock comes into sight. He squints to see both Roaches leaning against each other as they sleep, and he smiles to himself. Roach had neighed and nipped at the intruder when Geralt had first introduced them, so he’s glad to see they’re getting along now. Jaskier would probably say it’s his fault they didn’t get along for rubbing his surly nature off on his horses, and Geralt would be inclined to agree. 

As Geralt gets closer, he notices the sound of snapping twigs coming from the woods on the other side of the pasture. He stops and scans the tree line, but he doesn’t notice anything amiss. Probably a deer. He swings open the gate and latches it shut behind him as both Roaches blink at him sleepily. 

“Good morning,” Geralt greets as he gets closer, stooping down to tug up a patch of clover to offer in his outstretched hands. 

Roach gets to her feet instantly, snuffling into his left hand, and the other Roach follows her lead, sniffing at Geralt’s right hand tentatively. He starts to nibble at the purple flowers. When they’re done, Geralt examines the scraps of cloth, pulling it back so he can look at the stitches. It looks like everything is healing cleanly, and Geralt hums in satisfaction. 

He stays with his horses for a little while longer, watching them navigate each other and making sure neither is being too ornery to the other. He huffs a soft laugh when the gelding prances around Roach in circles, until she headbutts past him to continue grazing without disturbance. 

The sun is just breaking over the horizon when he starts to make the short trek back to the cottage, looking forward to waking Jaskier up properly. 

-

Jaskier groans and blinks awake again at a banging on the door. He squints his eyes, trying to avoid the early morning light as he grabs his robe and stumbles toward the door, figuring Geralt has his hands too full to open it. He’s probably bringing home a fawn to nurse back to health, if the pattern holds. Jaskier snorts to himself at the thought. He wonders if Geralt could be talked into stew instead, but he imagines the pleading eyes Geralt would aim at him and already finds himself softening. 

He swings the door open and is met not with Geralt and a deer, but a man with a scar and a rather portly goat. 

The man scowls at him. “Where’s Geralt?”

Jaskier pulls his robe tighter around himself as his hackles raise. “Who’s asking?”

“That’s none of your concern. What is your concern is what I’m going to do to you if you don’t tell me. This place reeks of him.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrows. “You’re a witcher?” he asks. He looks at the man’s scar more carefully, then back down at the goat, munching contentedly on a stray dandelion growing through the stones. “Eskel?” he guesses.

He opens the door wider, gesturing for Eskel to come in. He does, hesitantly, and Jaskier waves a hand at the table, telling him to take a seat. Jaskier frowns at the goat that’s trailed in after them. “Geralt’s checking on his horses, but he should be back soon,” Jaskier says. 

“And who are you?”

“Geralt’s…friend.”

Eskel looks him up and down skeptically. “Right. I’m sure Geralt tells all his friends about me.”

Jaskier’s cheeks burn, so he turns around and pulls a pot down from a cabinet before picking up the fire iron and poking at the embers. He throws a handful of wood chips onto the hot spot, and blows a gentle breath on them. They light, and Jaskier piles on some larger twigs. Once there’s a happy blaze crackling, he throws on a large log (that Geralt looked very handsome while chopping) and looks back to Eskel, who’s watching him carefully and petting the spot between the goat’s horns. 

“Breakfast?” he asks weakly, willing Geralt to hurry up. 

Eskel nods his assent, so Jaskier cracks some eggs into a bowl and slices some bread to toast. 

“So. What are you looking for Geralt for?” Jaskier asks conversationally. 

Eskel shrugs. “Haven’t seen him in a while. He didn’t come to Kaer Morhen last winter.” Eskel looks at Jaskier accusingly, and the tips of his ears turn red to match his face. “I heard he was shacking up somewhere around here, and I need help with a contract, anyway.”

Jaskier stirs the eggs more vigorously. “Oh?”

“Pack of drowners; more than I’d like to face alone. Besides, it’s perfect that you’re here, actually, you can watch Li’l Bleater for me.”

“Li’l—excuse me?”

“Li’l Bleater. She’s pregnant, so I don’t exactly want her in the thick of things.”

Jaskier looks at the goat’s rounded stomach more carefully, noting the way she’s starting to bag up. He scratches his neck. “Well, Geralt’s really the one who’s better with animals. I don’t think—”

“Nonsense. You won’t even notice she’s here.”

“Not until she gets placenta all over my floor, I imagine.”

Eskel scoffs. “She’s not due for another couple weeks at least. She’s not nearly wide enough.”

Jaskier can’t see how she could still walk around if she gets wider, but he’ll take Eskel’s words at face value. 

“Besides,” Eskel continues, “she eats the placenta.”

Jaskier feels faint at the idea. He turns around and pokes at the eggs, deciding they’re done. He scrapes them onto three plates and puts toast beside them, feeling proud he didn’t burn anything for once. 

He’s just setting the plates on the table when Geralt bursts in. His face immediately twists into delight at the sight of Eskel, and that dashes any hopes Jaskier had of them not gallivanting off together..

Ah, well. He supposes it will be good for Geralt to get out; he avoids the tiny village and its market like the plague, and Jaskier can’t say he doesn’t know why. 

Even when Jaskier goes by himself, he’s still greeted with whispers and drawn faces, so he can see why Geralt prefers to skip it altogether. If Geralt did go with him and anyone dared to say anything to their faces, Jaskier would be forced to make a scene, and he doesn’t think Geralt would appreciate that very much. 

He jerks his attention back to Geralt and Eskel, where Geralt is leaning down to give Li’l Bleater a hearty scratch, because of course he is. Jaskier plunks himself down in the wooden chair and sullenly eats his eggs, mollified when Geralt’s hand lands on his thigh and starts to rub circles into it with his thumb. 

“—Shouldn’t be gone more than three days,” Geralt is saying as Jaskier bites into his dry toast. 

It tastes like dust. “When are you leaving, then?” 

Geralt looks to Eskel. “As soon as possible,” Eskel answers. 

Jaskier wipes his hands on his pants and stands up, sighing. Geralt shoots him a concerned look, full of questions, and Jaskier is sure he’s two seconds away from saying he doesn’t have to go. Jaskier knows the itch under Geralt’s skin has been intensifying, knows that for all Geralt isn’t meant to stomp from contract to contract, never taking a break, he’s not built for being just a farm hand, either. 

Jaskier shoots him a reassuring smile and tentatively pats Li’l Bleater on the head. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage without you for a few days.”

Geralt and Eskel stand up, too, and Geralt closes his hand around Jaskier’s wrist. “Don’t burn the place down,” he says. 

A smile twitches at Jaskier’s lips, because that’s proof Geralt is coming back. He’s not going to go out and get the wanderlust from his younger years, he’s going to return to Jaskier. Good thing, too; Jaskier can barely take care of himself, much less the animals Geralt is amassing. Now they’re up to three for sure, and Jaskier is fairly certain he’s seen a dog trailing around behind Geralt. As long as it doesn’t end up at the foot of their bed, Jaskier is content for Geralt to do whatever makes him happy. 

Jaskier glances at Eskel, who’s staring at them both, but he’s not going to let Geralt run off without a kiss. To his surprise, it’s Geralt that leans in to press his lips against Jaskier’s. Geralt pulls back, tugging at his hair and giving Jaskier a bashful grin. 

Jaskier pushes playfully against his chest. “Be safe, you sap.”

Geralt grunts, the tip of his ears turning red, before he drags Eskel out the door. The door slams shut behind them, but not before Jaskier hears Eskel teasing Geralt. “Is that your _boyfriend_?” he sings.

There’s a solid _thwack_ sound, and a, “I’m just jerking your chain, Geralt,” before they’re out of earshot, and Jaskier turns to Li’l Bleater. 

They stare at each other until she creeps forward to nibble on the edge of Jaskier’s doublet. 

He sighs. He can deal with a chew-happy goats. As long as she keeps her kids inside of her until Eskel returns, they’ll be fine. 

-

Jaskier’s lying in his too-empty bed, trying to pretend he enjoys the extra space to stretch out, when there’s a loud bleat from beside him on the floor. 

He pokes his head out from under the comforter, too cold without Geralt’s space heating abilities to warm him, and sees Li’l Bleater crying in pain, a puddle underneath her. 

Fuck.

“ _She’s not nearly wide enough_ ,” Jaskier says to himself in a high pitched voice, tumbling out of the bed to be on level with Li’l Bleater. 

She’s breathing heavily, and Jaskier pets a hand through her fur, coaxing her to lay down. She resists, pacing around in short circles. Jaskier peeks behind her. Melitele, he can see hooves. Fuck. Jaskier is not prepared to witness this. Li’l Bleater rubs her nose against his hand, and Jaskier snorts that she’s the one comforting him. 

She bleats again, and Jaskier casts his eyes to the sky. Give him strength. 

When he dares to look at her behind again, there’s the tip of a nose sticking out, encased in fluid. He exhales shakily. He’s never been more glad to lack a uterus. He buries his face in his hands for a few minutes and doesn’t look back up until there’s a rustling and a dull thud beside him. He jerks his head towards Li’l Bleater, where she’s standing up all of a sudden, and there’s a kid lying on the floor. 

Jaskier wouldn’t call it cute, that’s for sure. 

Li’l Bleater turns around and licks it almost instantly, and Jaskier lets out a sigh of relief. He was starting to have terrible visions of himself having to bottle feed the little beast. He looks at the attached umbilical cord and sighs. He really doesn’t want any of these… _fluids_ anywhere need him, but with the knowledge he’s unwillingly picked up from Geralt, he knows he probably should cut it. Li’l Bleater could deal with it on her own, sure, but he doesn’t want to take any chances it might tangle. He fumbles around in their nightstand until he finds a knife, because of course those are the kinds of things Geralt keeps in there. When he comes back, the kid is standing on four knobby legs, stumbling around, and Jaskier’s heart does not melt. Not one bit, even if the thing does look cute now that Li’l Bleater has cleaned off most of the mucus. He carefully cuts the umbilical cord close to the stomach and ties it off. 

He looks behind the kid, notes it’s a boy, and groans. The last thing they need is more testosterone around. Well, he won’t be staying, if Jaskier has anything to say about it. 

“You’re fine, right?” he asks. “I can go back to bed? You know, it’s not terribly polite to wake me in the middle of the night.”

He swears she shoots him an incredulous look. He crawls back into bed, pulling his pillow over his head and tries to ignore the little squeaks. 

-

When Jaskier wakes, there’s a rough tongue licking his hand, and he looks down blearily. He does a double take. There’s one more goat there than when he went to bed. He’s honestly impressed he was able to sleep through it. What can he say, Geralt has been tiring him out. “I’m sorry,” he says, patting Li’l Bleater’s head. 

He looks down at the twins, one a mottled black, and the other all white except for a brown patch on her nose. She looks up at him and gives the squeakiest bleat he’s ever heard. 

He resists the urge to laugh; he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “That’s quite terrifying,” he says seriously, swinging his feet onto the cold floor. She whines again, and Jaskier can’t help it when his brain names her Pipsqueak. He looks at the other kid. “That leaves you to be… Littlest Bleater?” 

He huffs a laugh at his own joke while Li’l Bleater looks at him, unimpressed. She shifts so her kids can latch onto her teats, which they waste no time in doing. Jaskier’s glad he won’t have to worry about bottle feeding them or any of the nonsense that he’s sure Geralt would be much better at. 

He sighs and wonders when Geralt will be home. 

-

Three days later, Jaskier is at his wit’s end. Geralt and Eskel are a day late, and it’s been just long enough to make Jaskier worry that’s something has gone wrong. The kids started to jump around the cabin, so he carried each to the paddock Geralt built, Li’l Bleater and the dog Jaskier just knows Geralt has been feeding trailing behind him. 

He pats Li’l Bleater on the head. “Much more grass for you to nibble on out here, anyway.”

Li’l Bleater responds by ripping up some greenery by the roots, her kids nosing the ground curiously before growing bored and going to investigate the Roach that got left behind. 

Jaskier spares a moment to be sorry for the poor gelding before shrugging. Better him than Jaskier. He laughs as the kids bleat around the horse and nibble at his legs. The dog sniffs curiously at his legs. 

He swears he hears laughter drifting back to him that’s not his own, and he whips his head around to scan the tree line, but he doesn’t see anything. He shrugs it off as his imagination. 

-

“Fuck, Geralt,” Eskel growls, pushing Geralt up onto his saddle. 

Geralt slumps forward, clinging to the saddle horn and patting a hand down Roach’s mane. “It’s okay, girl,” he says, ignoring Eskel for the time being as he catches his breath. 

“You’re getting slow,” Eskel tuts.

“It would have been fine if I wouldn’t have had to rescue someone else’s sorry ass from getting dragged to the bottom of the lake.”

Eskel hums, unimpressed. “Your bard isn’t going to be happy about this.”

Geralt grumbles. “He’s going to be more upset that you made us search the wrong lake for two days, and now we’re late getting back. Besides, he’s not _my_ bard, he’s his own person.”

“You know what I mean.”

Geralt looks down at his leg, neatly splinted and wrapped by Eskel, even though it’s still throbbing something fierce. It looks a damn sight better than it had, the bone nearly protruding through the skin. 

“On second thought, maybe he won’t mind the excuse to keep you in bed all day.” Eskel leers at him, and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

He grunts as Roach steps down roughly, jostling his leg. 

“Shame you don’t have any conynhaela,” Eskel remarks. 

“That’s by design.” Geralt has had his bone kitted back together by the stuff before, and it’s more painful than breaking it in the first place. No, now he can afford to take the time to just let it heal by himself. It’s not like he still won’t heal faster than a human would. 

They ride in silence for the better part of a day, until the landscape evens out, and Geralt starts to see familiar landmarks. It’s certainly not too soon; his leg feels like there’s a million tiny needles poking at it. He knows Eskel can hear his pained breaths, so he tries not to show any other signs of how much pain he’s in. 

Roach stumbles to a halt unexpectedly, her ears swivelling around, so Geralt pricks his ears up as well, until he picks up on the distant sounds of a horse’s scream. 

“You hear that?” he asks Eskel.

Eskel sighs. “Geralt, your leg is broken; I don’t think now is the best time for your bleeding heart nonsense.”

Geralt scowls at him and points Roach in the direction of the noise, urging her into a trot and ignoring the way it jolts his leg with every step. Eskel curses and follows. 

Geralt follows the sound until he can finally just make out the outline of a cart halfway into a ditch. The snap of a whip whistles through the air, followed by the horse’s repeated cry. The sharp scent of fear permeates the air, and Geralt digs his good knee into Roach’s side as she balks at the sound of the other horse’s distress. When they get close enough, Geralt shouts at the man doing the lashing. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The man sneers at him. “Move along. It’s none of your concern.”

Geralt rests his hand on his dagger’s hilt right at his waist. The man’s eyes catch the movement, bouncing up to Geralt’s face and widening a bit, but then they settle on Geralt’s bandaged leg. 

“I’m not scared of you, Witcher.”

Hooves crunch on the rocky road behind Geralt, and Eskel heaves a long suffering sigh before swinging himself on his horse. 

“Look, my friend here has got in his head that you’re not being very nice to this horse, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to take it off your hands.”

The man splutters, but Eskel gives him his best glower. He doesn’t even have to reach behind him to unsheath his steel sword before the man gives in, and Geralt is almost impressed. 

The man throws up his hands. “Fine. Take the damn nag. Not good for anything, anyway. Can’t even pull the fucking cart.”

Eskel shoots Geralt a meaningful look over his shoulder, _you owe me_ , before he strides forward to pat the panting horse to keep her calm while he unhitches her from the cart. The horse doesn’t want to stand up, and Geralt keeps his distance, not wanting to spook her more as Eskel finally coaxes her to her feet. 

Geralt keeps a cautious eye on the man, still watching them with a twisted mouth, as Eskel leads the horse out of the ditch. She’s emaciated, her ribs sticking out through her matted fur. No doubt she needs her shoes changed. Geralt wonders how much it would take to convince Jaskier to take her to the farrier. 

Eskel leads the horse away from the man, clucking his tongue so Scorpion falls into step behind him. “This horse looks like a stiff breeze could knock her over. What are you even going to do with her, Geralt?”

Geralt shrugs. “Whatever it is, she’ll be better off with me than him.”

“Didn’t know you could get even softer, Geralt, but you’ve gone and done it.”

Geralt grunts. 

Eskel continues grousing, “It’s really not right that I’m the one that has to walk the whole way back. This was your idea, and I’ve gotten stuck leading it!”

Eskel stoops down to grab a stone and throws it at Geralt. Geralt ducks down, so it sails over his head. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. 

-

Jaskier feels like he’s waiting for his husband to return from the war as he drums his fingers on the window ledge, Geralt’s dog steadily drooling on his leg. He looks back down at his sheath of papers, contemplating his next lyric. When he looks back up, there’s the outline of figures on the horizon, and he tries not to get his hopes up, but he really doesn’t know who else would be all the way out here. 

As they get closer, he can confirm that it is Geralt and Eskel, with… an extra horse? Jaskier shakes his head in fond exasperation. Jaskier nudges the dog’s head off his leg and makes his way to stand out in front of the cabin, leaning back on the wooden wall and crossing his arms.

By the time they’re within shouting distance, Jaskier can see Geralt’s leg is bandaged all the way from his calf to his knee. “What have you gone and done, now, Geralt?”

“He broke his leg!” Eskel crows. 

“And I see you’ve picked yourself up a new horse? Looks mighty delicate.”

Eskel grins. “This is Geralt’s new project, not mine.”

Jaskier sighs. “Don’t tell me you’ve named it Roach.”

Geralt just shoots him a small smile and moves to dismount. Jaskier hurries forward to help him, and Geralt leans heavily on him as he supports him back to the cabin, Eskel securing the horses to their hitching post before following them inside. 

Jaskier looks balefully at his abandoned lyrics. Maybe Eskel will be more forthcoming with the details of their hunt. 

-

Eskel doesn’t even look suitably shocked when Jaskier tells him Li’l Bleater became a mother while he was gone, just gives Jaskier a little smirk. Bastard.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt lets out a puff of breath and pushes some of the blankets Jaskier has piled on him off. Jaskier even has the fire fully stoked. Geralt thinks Jaskier may be under the impression he’s recovering from hypothermia and not a broken leg. At the moment, Jaskier is off getting Roach number three re-shoed. Geralt is glad for the peace. 

As nice as it is to have someone taking care of him, for Jaskier to simply be there, Geralt is also used to a lot more solitude. It’s hard to get a thought in with Jaskier’s unceasing chatter. Of course, Jaskier would be quiet if Geralt asked, but he couldn't bear to see the hurt flash across Jaskier’s face before he turned away from Geralt and tried to hide it. 

No, he’ll bear all of Jaskier’s babbling, because someday he won’t have it, and he’s sure he’ll sorely miss it then. His leg itches, but when he tries to scratch it, the movement bumps his leg and makes him hiss in pain. The long wooden spoon Jaskier had procured for him to stick down the bandages alongside the splint is just out of reach. 

Geralt sits up in the bed and stretches for it, but he still can’t reach it. Well, maybe a bit of exercise will help. He grasps the crutches he fashioned and heaves himself out of the bed. There’s an itch under his skin, a desire to move, to be outside and let the breeze touch his skin instead of the suffocating warmth of the cabin. 

He maneuvers his way out of the cabin before realizing just how difficult it is to navigate stones on crutches. He perseveres, pausing just before he comes into view of the paddock. There’s peals of... laughter? Geralt cocks his head questioningly, creeping forward as quietly as he can. When he can finally see the source of the sounds, he realizes it’s three children, standing on the fence and trying to coax all of the animals to them. Li’l Bleater is munching fearlessly on some grass in one of their outstretched hands, and Geralt watches them for a minute before he walks over to them. 

They freeze when they see him, and Geralt tries his best to exude something that hopefully feels nonthreatening. “Do you want to pet her?” he asks, nodding to Roach. 

They exchange wide eyes glances with each other before nodding eagerly. 

“My name’s Geralt,” he says softly. 

“Why’s your hair white? How old are you?” one of them, the boy, pipes up.

Geralt freezes for a second before recovering. “Extremely old.”

The children nod sagely before giving him their names. Gretka, Millie, and Alvin, and it seems like they’ve been visiting the horses for a while, since before the addition of Li’l Bleater. Geralt had groused at Eskel when he had asked if they would look after Li’l Bleater and her kids for a while longer, but he was secretly glad for it. Jaskier would never let him live down if he knew, but Geralt thinks they’re rather cute. 

Geralt clucks his tongue and both of the remaining Roaches amble over to him. Millie climbs higher on the fence to stretch out to pet them, delighting at the velvety softness of their noses. 

Something squeezes Geralt’s ribcage, and he’s unable to help the smile that spreads across his face. 

-

Jaskier ties Roach to the hitching post about the cabin, grumbling to himself about overpriced farriers and how very silly it is that Geralt has three horses named Roach, before banging open the door to the cabin. He freezes when he sees it’s empty, the fire still crackling away in the hearth. “Geralt?” he calls, even though there’s really nowhere for him to be. The cabin is only two rooms, and the door to their bedroom is open. The sheets on the bed are rumpled and at the foot of the bed. 

Jaskier tries not to let himself panic as he hurries back out of the cabin and down to the paddock, the only other place Geralt might be, hastily untying Roach and leading her there. No point in making two trips, after all. 

When he gets there, he sees a head of white hair, and he forces himself to take a breath. He would think Geralt wouldn’t be making treks over rocky ground with a broken leg, but when has Geralt ever followed Jaskier’s expert medical guidance? Only when he’s too hurt to put up a fight, that’s when. He supposes this means Geralt is starting to feel better, so he’s glad for that, at least. 

Jaskier falters in his steps when he notices that Geralt isn’t alone. There’s two children standing on the fence, and another perched atop his shoulders. Jaskier sighs. He’s certain that’s not advisable with a broken leg. Geralt must hear his steps, because he turns around and lifts hand off his crutch in greeting. 

Jaskier’s sure if he would have tried to do that, he would have lost his balance and fallen on his ass. He’s only a little jealous. He ambles down to Geralt, the children gasping and running towards the Roach Jaskier’s leading to pet her. Jaskier lets them, giving Geralt a questioning look. Geralt takes no initiative to explain, not that Jaskier was really expecting it. He knows better, at this point. 

Jaskier stands by Geralt and lets Geralt lean against his chest, giving his arms a break from the crutches. “I was worried,” Jaskier murmurs. 

A look of surprise crosses Geralt’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

“How about leaving a note next time?”

Geralt hums. “I suppose I can do that.”

-

Jaskier helps Geralt back to the cabin, and Geralt is grateful as Jaskier pretends not to notice his difficulty navigating the rocky terrain. Jaskier just slows down, letting Geralt make his way carefully through them, searching for just the right spot to put his crutch down that’s not going to make it twist beneath his arm. 

When they make it back, Jaskier deposits Geralt on the bed and makes to head back to the kitchen, but Geralt catches his wrist and drags him down to the bed. Geralt swings his good leg over Jaskier’s hips and nuzzles behind his ear. Jaskier swats at him. “Stop, that tickles!”

Geralt doesn’t let up, mouthing his way up Jaskier’s neck. “Missed you today,” he murmurs. 

Jaskier scoffs. “Yes, no one here to rub out the kinks in your back for you. Besides, you’re the one who sent me away.”

“It needed done; that doesn’t mean I wanted you to have to go.”

Jaskier turns over so that he’s facing Geralt. “I’m sure.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just keeps working his mouth up until it’s on Jaskier’s, and Jaskier kisses him back enthusiastically. 

Geralt starts to maneuver himself on top of Jaskier, but Jaskier stops him with a hand to his chest. “Just—let me take care of you.”

Geralt lays back on the pillows, scowling. Jaskier taps the tip of Geralt’s nose with his finger, just like he knows Geralt hates. “Don’t be so dour. Lucky I’m going to let you exert yourself at all. Have to be careful of that leg.”

“Lucky me,” Geralt says sarcastically, but the look on his face turns from annoyed to something else as Jaskier trails his fingertips down Geralt’s chest, unbuttoning his shirt. Geralt reaches forward to help Jaskier divest himself of his shirt, but he dances back just out of reach, grinning at Geralt maddenly. Geralt groans. “Jaskier.”

“Yes?” he asks innocently. 

“Don’t be a tease.”

“Who? Me? I am  _ offended _ , Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier ghosts his fingers down Geralt’s bare chest, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and finally taking off his own. He moves to straddle Geralt, being mindful of his leg and grinding down. 

Geralt thumps his head back on the pillow, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to untie the laces of Geralt’s trousers.

His hand brushes Geralt’s cock as he does so, just enough for the sensation to register, but nowhere close to hard enough to give Geralt any relief. Jaskier’s wicked grin says he’s well aware of this fact. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out again. 

Jaskier finally takes pity on him and takes Geralt in hand, giving him a firm stroke up the shaft, rubbing his thumb over the tip to spread the gathering precum back down his length. Geralt huffs out a heavy breath. “Let me hear you, darling. You don’t have to be so reserved all the time,” Jaskier says.

Geralt grunts in response, which is more than Jaskier expected. He gives his wrist a twist, watching the subtle expressions of pleasure dance across Geralt’s face. Geralt reaches forward to get a hand on Jaskier’s cock, but Jaskier catches his wrist and presses it down. He quirks an eyebrow. “That seems like it would be a little too strenuous, don’t you think?”

Geralt has the beginnings of a growl in the back of his throat, but he settles for shooting Jaskier an exasperated look of frustration. Jaskier clambers off of Geralt for just a moment to take off his pants and retrieve a vial of oil. There’s really no way to look graceful while doing it, so he goes for speed, climbing back on Geralt’s lap before Geralt has a chance to get too cantankerous about the whole thing. 

Jaskier pops the cork and moves to coat his fingers, but Geralt stops him. “Let me.”

Jaskier puts a hand on his chin. “I suppose I can allow it.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and takes the tiny bottle from Jaskier, pouring some into his hands and warming it up, which Jaskier is grateful for. He sinks one finger into Jaskier without much fanfare, and Jaskier sighs and closes his eyes as Geralt adds another and wriggles them around, searching for Jaskier’s prostate. He finds it quickly, and Jaskier lets out a breathy gasp that makes Geralt hum in satisfaction. 

Geralt presses in another thick finger, and Jaskier grinds back on them. “That’s enough, Geralt,” he says, shifting on Geralt’s lap and giving his cock a few firm strokes. Jaskier takes the vial and slicks up Geralt’s cock before sinking onto him slowly. Geralt’s hands come up to clutch at his hips, but he doesn’t move other than that until Jaskier is fully seated. Jaskier is still for a moment, letting his body get used to the intrusion and the feeling of fullness that gives his stomach a pleasant dull ache. 

Once both of their breathing has levelled out, Jaskier begins to move, making Geralt groan in pleasure. “Let me hear you,” Jaskier breathes, and Geralt gets slightly louder in response. 

Jaskier speeds up his movements, slowing down and glaring at Geralt whenever he gets too enthusiastic. “Your leg,” he pants, trying to hide his smirk at Geralt’s frustration. 

“I’m fine,” Geralt huffs, but Jaskier keeps a hand pressed firmly to the middle of his chest and cocks an eyebrow. 

“You’re not going to injure yourself more on my watch. Don’t make me tie you down.”

A delightful blush crosses Geralt’s face at that, and Jaskier files the information away for future use. 

He trails his hands over Geralt’s chest, pinching at his nipples as he continues to bounce up and down on Geralt’s cock. He glides his fingers over the scars that litter Geralt’s chest. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and Geralt turns his head away, not meeting Jaskier’s eyes. 

He takes himself in hand, and Geralt looks back at the movement, moaning at the sight. Well. That’s one way to improve a man’s self confidence. Jaskier moves faster and faster until they’re both panting and Geralt is starting to writhe under him. 

He keeps up the pace until a wet warmth floods him, Geralt’s cock twitching inside of him. It doesn’t take much for his hand to bring him over his own edge, and his release paints Geralt’s face. A glob has splattered into Geralt’s hair, and Jaskier brushes it out with a chuckle and an annoyed grunt from Geralt. 

Jaskier gingerly lifts himself off Geralt and rolls next to him on the bed. 

He lays back, trying to catch his breath. “Phew. Sure wish you would have helped me a bit more, Geralt. I can’t believe you just made me do all the work.”

Geralt glares at him, and Jaskier grins. He would really like to curl up and go to sleep now, but there’s still a few things that need his attention. 

He gets up to retrieve a rag, making a face at the way Geralt’s come feels dripping out of him. After he cleans them both up a bit, he says, “Let’s take a look at your leg. I’m sure the bandage could use a change after your little cross country hike today.”

Jaskier prods at the bandage that is no longer the crisp white it was when Eskel left. “Is that a twig?” Jaskier asks incredulously. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve survived this long if you can’t even keep a wound clean.”

“It’s a break, not a cut,” Geralt grumbles, “It’s not going to get infected. Couldn’t get infected even if it was.”

Jaskier levels him an unimpressed look as he carefully unwinds the bandage. Geralt swallows at Jaskier’s gentle hands. Geralt should be used to the care Jaskier always takes with him by now, but it still surprises him every time. 

Jaskier finishes unwrapping the cloth, and pokes at Geralt’s leg. Geralt hisses and swats Jaskier’s hand away. “Don’t be a baby,” Jaskier chides. “At least it looks like it’s healing up nicely.”

“No thanks to you.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest, and Geralt rolls his eyes at the drama of it all, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I love you, Geralt.”

Geralt hesitates. “I… love you, too.” It never seems to get easier for Geralt to say it, but it’s worth it for the way that Jaskier lights up at the words. 

Geralt sighs in contentedness as Jaskier lays down and burrows himself into Geralt’s side, winding his arms around Geralt carefully. Geralt’s never voiced how much he likes it when Jaskier does this, but he thinks Jaskier knows. It makes him feel protected in a way that’s hard to describe. Geralt can protect himself just fine from any physical threat, but it’s the more insidious things that Jaskier shields him from. Geralt’s gotten close to people before, but the people he really lets in, all the way past the thorny hedges that guard his heart, have inevitably let him down. 

He knows his heart is safe with Jaskier. 

-

When Jaskier wakes up, Geralt is still snoring lightly beside him. Jaskier is surprised; Geralt almost never sleeps later than him. Jaskier must have tired him out last night. He snickers and rolls out of bed as quietly as he can. Geralt is a notoriously light sleeper, but Jaskier would really like to be able to go to the market this morning and get some fruit so he can make those hand pies Geralt tries to hide how much he enjoys. 

Jaskier slips into his pants, his thighs protesting with a twinge, and creeps out of their bedroom to button his shirt. He pauses to leave a note, because he knows how Geralt gets when he’s worried about the Pipsqueak and Littlest Bleater, so he’d hate to see Geralt if he thought Jaskier was gone. Jaskier’s sure he’d be even more crotchety than normal, and that would truly be an achievement. 

Jaskier makes his way to the market, a wicker basket in hand. When he makes it to the main street where the stalls are set up, he can see the way the villagers hide their words behind their hands, and he’s sure they’re gossiping about him. A group of them once even approached him and quite seriously asked if he was being held against his will. He had some choice words for them. 

Jaskier makes his way to the fruit stand, scrutinizing the choices. He tells the woman running the stand what he’s making, and she helps him fill his basket. As he gives her some coins, she looks like she’s biting back a question.

“What is it?” Jaskier sighs. 

“I… I thought witchers only ate raw meat.”

Jaskier’s honestly not sure how to respond. “He’s not an animal, you know. He’s more like you and me than you’d think.”

“Oh,” the woman says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. 

Jaskier sucks in a deep breath through his nose. Give him strength.

Jaskier’s attention is drawn away from the woman by a commotion going on down the street. His feet carry him to see what is causing the racket before he really even registers it. It’s exactly the sort of thing Geralt would do, and, that’s lovely, Geralt is rubbing off on him, and not in the way Jaskier would like. 

Jaskier sees a group of children, all throwing rocks. Jaskier gets closer, and he sees their target. It’s a pitiful looking black cat, trying to make itself as small as possible while all its hair stands up on end. The children have it backed up into a corner, and it’s not even hissing at them, just letting a terrible low pitched whine. 

If the sight tugs on Jaskier’s heartstrings, it’s certainly not because the cat with its torn ear and stump of a tail reminds him of anyone. Definitely not. 

“Hey!” Jaskier shouts. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The children take one look at him and scatter, but two of them remain, and they run to him, tugging on his shirt. “You have to help her,” one of the girl sobs. 

Jaskier looks around, but he doesn’t see another girl materializing who needs his help. “Who?”

“The cat!” she wails. 

Jaskier tugs a hand through his hair. He’s barely capable of taking care of a human, much less a cat. Nevertheless, he tentatively reaches a hand out to the cat. She hisses at him, but Jaskier has some experience with prickly people who don’t want to accept help. Finally, the cat gives his hand a tentative sniff, and Jaskier presses his flat hand down into her fur. She’s panting, and Jaskier can feel her ribs. Her fur is patchy and an unpleasant scent wafts off of her. Jaskier wrinkles his nose. 

He turns back to the girls, hovering behind him. “Is this your cat?”

They shake their heads. “No, we just saw her when everyone was throwing rocks at her. We tried to get them to stop, but they were just laughing…” the girls dissolves into sniffles, and Jaskier pats her hand. 

In fact, now that he takes a closer look at her, she looks familiar. “Gretka?” he tries. 

The girl shakes her head. “I’m Millie.” She points at her companion. “That’s Gretka.”

“Ah. Well, it’s going to be okay. The cat doesn’t look like she’s hurt. She just needs some food.”

“You’re going to take care of her, right?” Millie asks, looking up at him with big doe eyes. 

“Um. You are certainly both animal lovers,” Jaskier tries weakly, but they don’t let him off the hook. “Yes, yes, I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

They look a little cheered at his promise, but their mood is still too terribly sober for two young girls, so Jaskier makes another promise. “You know, I think if you asked Geralt, he’d be up for giving you some riding lessons. You know, if you like horses as much as this cat.”

Gretka looks at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“I’m certain of it. Bring your other friend along, too. It’ll be good for Geralt.”

There’s a spring in Jaskier’s step the whole way back to the cottage, even with a wriggly cat in tow. 

-

“No,” Geralt says flatly.

“Geralt, look at her! How can you just say no?”

The cat meows, and Jaskier holds her out to Geralt and drops her, forcing him to catch her. She immediately snuggles into his chest. She warmed up quite a bit to Jaskier during their walk back here, and Jaskier tries to hold back his smug grin. 

“I just butchered a rabbit; she probably smells it,” Geralt dismisses. “Cats don’t like witchers, and we don’t like them.”

He can see the smile Jaskier is attempting to hide, and frankly, he doesn’t appreciate it. There’s no way he is going to suffer the indignity of cat hair on all of his things. 

“I don’t see why you can rescue animals all the time, but I do it once and suddenly it’s a big deal.”

Geralt scowls. “I don’t intend on keeping any of them where you sleep.”

The cat has burrowed further into his chest and is batting at the ends of his hair. Jaskier steps forward and wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck, and Geralt finds his will power seeping away. 

“I don’t like it,” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier grins and mouths his way up Geralt’s neck. “No one would expect you to, darling.”

Geralt shoves the cat back into Jaskier’s arms and grabs his crutches, making his slow way to check on everyone in the paddock. He climbs over the fence ungracefully, sitting down and cracking open the book he brought with him. 

Roach wanders over to him, her siblings keeping their distance for now, and Geralt pets her soft nose and tells her all about his silly bard. “What does he think I’m going to do with a cat?” Geralt complains. 

By now, Pipsqueak and Littlest Bleater have made their way over to him, too, climbing onto his lap and making Geralt hiss in pain as he shoves them off his broken leg. Finally, they both settle comfortably, and Geralt traces the nubs of their tiny horns with his fingers. Pipsqueak absentmindedly nibbles on his hair. Geralt turns the page of his book, grateful they’re not trying to chew on that. 

And that’s the way Jaskier finds him as the sun is going down, with goats prancing around him and all three Roaches watching them warily. 

Jaskier can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. “Your hair is wet, Geralt.”

Geralt touches it and is surprised to find Jaskier is right. Pipsqueak is apparently more slobbery than he had expected. “Hmm.”

Jaskier laughs again, reaching out a hand to help Geralt to his feet. “Do you know what would be good?” Jaskier asks, nosing against Geralt’s throat. 

“What?”

“A braid. It’d keep your hair out of your face, and I think you’d look very handsome with it. Well, even more handsome,” Jaskier amends. 

“Hmm.”

-

“Geralt! Hold still!” 

“You’re tugging it,” Geralt whines. 

“How many monsters have you killed? And you’re scared of a hairbrush?”

Jaskier is attempting to brush Geralt’s hair so he can braid it, but Geralt won’t stop squirming. “There’s just so many knots. When’s the last time you brushed it?”

Geralt ducks his head, and Jaskier rolls his eyes. He knows that’s code for  _ I don’t remember _ . 

He finally,  _ finally _ , gets the brush worked through all of Geralt’s hair, and begins braiding it. Now, Geralt leans back against his knees and practically purrs as Jaskier works his finger’s through Geralt’s hair. He pokes his tongue out a little as he plaits the hair, trying to make it neat. The cat noses at Jaskier’s hand, trying to investigate, before it slinks back away to watch from a safe distance. 

“There. Now you look very distinguished.”

Geralt glances at the mirror and smooths some of his flyaway hairs back. “I like it. Thank you,” he says, and Jaskier is pleasantly surprised. He figured Geralt was just humoring him, at best. 

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

“ _ I’ll  _ brush my hair first.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Am not,” Geralt grumbles. 

Jaskier presses a light kiss to his lips. Geralt reaches for the back of his head to deepen it, but Jaskier pulls back. “Look what I made you today.”

He takes Geralt’s hand and helps him toward the kitchen, pulling the tea towel off of his confectionaries. Geralt’s eyes widen at the sight of them. “You made these for me?”

“You like them, right?”

“I do,” Geralt confirms. 

“Then they’re all yours.”

A tiny smile tugs at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart melts at just how easy it is to please him. Geralt deserves all the happinesses in the world. Geralt reaches out for one of them, but Jaskier stops him. 

“Wait!” he cries. “They’re hand pies. “I’m fairly certain that means I have to feed you by hand.”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum, but he doesn’t offer any resistance when Jaskier holds them to his mouth, or later when Jaskier kisses the sweetness from his lips. 

-

The first time it happens, Geralt leaps out of bed with a shout before he’s even fully awake, making Jaskier blink blearily beside him. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier yawns. 

Geralt whips his head around, trying to find the source of what woke him up, when he sees a flash of black darting under their bird. “Damn it, Jaskier, it’s your cat!”

Jaskier squints. “Spook?”

“What—? Is that what you named her?”

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “Gretka did.”

Geralt is unconvinced, but he doesn’t let Jaskier distract him from the more pressing matter. “She stepped on my face!”

Jaskier props himself up on his elbow. “Aww, did the little cat frighten the big, scary witcher?”

Geralt scowls. “She didn’t frighten me. I was just… startled.”

“Uh-huh.”

Geralt pulls on his pants in a huff, but it’s belied by Jaskier’s snickers behind him as he hops around on his one good leg. 

“Would you like help?”

Geralt would, actually, but that would be Jaskier winning, not to mention leading to delays that would make all three Roaches upset at him. 

He buttons his pants with a grunt while Jaskier grins at him mischievously. 

“Don’t be such a sour puss,” Jaskier says lightly. “Soon you’ll be chasing the children away from our yard with a stick.”

“We don’t have a yard.”

Geralt doesn’t have to look back to know Jaskier is sticking his tongue out at him. 

He hobbles his way to the paddock, raising his eyebrows when he sees Gretka, Millie, and Alvin are back. “Geralt!” Gretka cries, running towards him and clinging to his leg. 

Geralt’s eyebrows climb even higher. “Do your parents know you’re here?” he asks. 

“Nope!” she replies cheerfully. 

Millie tugs on his hand. “Jaskier said you would teach us how to ride a horse.”

She looks up at him with big doe eyes, the kind Geralt has been historically unable to resist. He’s not surprised at all that Jaskier offered his services, but he is surprised that these children are taking him up on it, that they’re not running away frightened of Geralt. The world must not have turned them cynical yet, and Geralt desperately wishes they were able to stay that way. 

“He did, did he?” 

“He promised!” Gretka says.

“I want to ride Lucky!” Alvin proclaims. 

“Who?”

“Lucky!” Alvin says again, pointing to the oldest Roach. 

Geralt sighs and tries not to think of the smug satisfaction Jaskier is going to have when he hears about this. “I’ll help you up,” he says, and Alvin beams. 

-

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls, hurrying down the path that has become worn to the paddock. It’s ages past supper time, and it’s not like Geralt is exactly at full strength right now, and there’s all sorts of things that might hold a grudge—Jaskier stops in his tracks and gapes. Geralt is leading the least ornery Roaches around the pasture while a child sits atop her back. Jaskier hadn’t truly thought Geralt was going to give those children lessons when he suggested it; least of all without some prodding from Jaskier, but there he is, laughing at something one of them has said. 

Jaskier sits down heavily on the ground, just out of view out of the children, even though he’s sure Geralt has heard him. He’s proven right when Geralt helps the child down from Roach and ushers them home before he turns and limps toward Jaskier. Jaskier rushes forward to meet him and wraps an arm around Geralt’s waist. “How’s your leg?” Jaskier asks. 

“Much better. Almost fully healed.” Geralt leans further into Jaskier’s side, and Jaskier laughs and lets him. 

-

Jaskier is back at the market when he hears the sort of murmurs that make the back of his neck tingle after all these years travelling with Geralt. They’re the kind that manage to sound reverent yet disdainful, the fear leaking through evident. He knows they’re talking about Geralt, so he drifts closer. 

“—completely inappropriate,” one woman is saying. “Who knows what sorts of things he’s doing with our  _ children?  _ Where are their parents?”

Jaskier clears his throat, and the group of  _ concerned _ townspeople whirl to look at him, their eyes widening when they realize who he is. Jaskier folds his arms and tries not to take pleasure in the way they stammer explanations at him. 

“How can you bear to be around him? Are you not petrified all the time?” a different woman finally gets out, looking genuinely concerned for Jaskier. 

Jaskier scoffs. “Scared? Of Geralt? And what exactly, pray tell, has he done to make you all so frightened?” 

“Well, he’s a witcher. Who knows when they might turn on you! They don’t call him the Butcher of Blaviken for no reason!”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “The reason is murkier than you’d think. He’s not going to eat you, or whatever you’re worried about.”

A man pushes to the front of the group to stare at Jaskier like he’s shit on the bottom of his shoe. “We don’t want him…” the man searches for the right word, “ _ influencing _ our children.”

Jaskier seethes. “What are you so afraid of? That he might teach them some decency?”

“That he might teach them how to be a monster!” the man hisses, and that is—too far for Jaskier to ignore. He steps forward and punches the man square in the jaw, making his head turn and his eyes water. 

Jaskier subtly shakes out his fist. What? He can’t have followed Geralt around for this long without picking up on a few things. 

The man takes a step back from Jaskier, rubbing at his face and glaring. “See? Look what he’s done to you.”

“If Geralt was here, he undoubtedly would have told me that your sorry arse wasn’t worth it. He’s not responsible for what the depths of your stupidity forced me to do. In fact, if he did end up  _ influencing _ ,” Jaskier spits out the word with a sneer, “your children, you could consider yourselves lucky. Geralt is the best man I know. He does nothing but keep to himself, and you all still insist on talking about him behind his back. Words hurt, you know.”

The man looks cowed, but not enough to stop himself from laughing. “Words? Hurting a witcher? I don’t think so, bard.”

Jaskier clenches his jaw. The man has forced his hand. “You know, Geralt has some brothers, and I hear they’re not nearly as forgiving as him. If I were you, I would be hoping they don’t deem to pay you a visit.”

The man pales and shoots Jaskier a panicked glance before he looks back at the crowd behind him only to find them dispersed. He doesn’t spare Jaskier another look before he darts away, leaving Jaskier to walk back to the cottage in a huff. It’s only when he’s halfway there that he remembers what he went to the market for in the first place. 

He opens the door with a clatter, and there’s a thunder cloud over his head. He’s glad Geralt isn’t here, because he would pick up on Jaskier’s anger, and he doesn’t want to burden Geralt with this. There’s no reason he needs to know what the villager’s think of him. He’s sure Geralt is aware, on some level, because Geralt doesn’t ever assume people think favorable things about him, but there’s no need to tell Geralt the depths of their unfounded prejudice. 

Spook appears to rub around Jaskier’s legs, giving him a demanding mrp. Jaskier shuffles through their pantry, pulling down some dried meat for her and scratching her torn ears as she eats it daintily. Jaskier makes his way back out the door to find Geralt. His legs carry him down the familiar path, and he sees Geralt with Gretka, Alvin, and Millie again, Geralt’s dog weaving between all of their legs. Jaskier’s knuckles throb at the sight, sending satisfaction through him in a cool wave. 

There’s also another figure, and when he turns, Jaskier sees it’s Eskel. He does  _ not _ rub his hands together gleefully at the thought of the townspeople catching a glimpse of him. Eskel cuts an imposing figure, but slightly less so now when he’s sitting and letting Pipsqueak and Littlest Bleater climb all over his lap. Li’l Bleater sits next to him, pressed into his side, and Jaskier is sorry he missed their reunion. He knows firsthand how much Li’l Bleater can hold a grudge. 

Jaskier trudges the rest of the way to the fence before he leans on it and watches everyone. He catches Geralt’s eye and sends him a wink. Eskel walks over a short time later to stand with him, and they enjoy the view Geralt presents as he walks around in his tight leather pants. Jaskier may or may not have purchased this pair for him. 

Jaskier is so distracted he doesn’t even notice Li’l Bleater chewing on his doublet until it rips and Eskel laughs at him. Jaskier glares and ushers him out to help Geralt for his indiscretion. Eskel looks caught wrong footed among the children, but they delight in the new face and the fact that there’s now another person to lead a horse around so two of them can ride at the same time. 

Millie calls Jaskier over, too, and he clambers over the fence to help. He can see why Geralt is so fond of them, and watching Geralt give them gentle tips, he can see why the feeling is returned. 

Jaskier is content. 

-

Geralt’s not quite sure what to do with himself, here. There are no monsters, just a rocky stretch of a beach that’s all theirs, and some old and new friends alike. Geralt could get used to this. In fact, as Jaskier comes up behind and wraps an arm around his waist, he thinks he already has. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! you can find me on tumblr [here](https://contemplativepancakes.tumblr.com/), and if you feel so inclined, kudos and/or comments are pretty awesome :D


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